Luke J. Holt

Fog - Poem by Luke J. Holt

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The fog is at times yellowlike the must of the wolfs back in February the winds make idiot laughter of our poised wallsmelting our fear of shoes and laws and facts....The town has just reared its dead king from the white temple

II

Our fog is raptureborn of our time in the throes of stunned maniathe smoke oozes from your nose like powdered snoware there indulgences of which the rains have failed to warn us?